Looking for Normal
by Ruralstar
Summary: A chance encounter. The spark of friendship in a time of need


Looking for Normal

Doctor Miranda Bailey hated Starbuck's coffee. Sacrilege when living in the city considered a java Mecca by the over-caffeinated masses. She only drank it out of convenience, necessity or desperation. Now cradling a steaming cardboard cup and sitting alone on a park bench in the rain, she wondered idly which of those qualifiers had prompted her purchase. She should be home with the baby. She should be doing research. She should be talking to Tucker—or at least trying to do the homework the marriage counselor had assigned them—but she could not do any of those things.

_Doctor _Bailey had led a successful domino surgery two weeks ago, which had irrevocably altered twelve lives for the better, at least at first glance. Last week _Doctor _Bailey had led the charge to give a ten year old girl a second chance at life. A fresh start fate had fought mightily to deny in the face of a science second only to God in her opinion. _Doctor_ Bailey knew her talents and secretly harbored her pride, sharing only with those she trusted most. Those people were few and far between. Now as the evening waned and the streets grew quiet _Doctor _Bailey was nowhere to be found. Professional pride lay low in the fading reality of Edward and Rosemary Bullard.

The Bullards had come to Seattle Grace relying heavily on their marital bond of fifty years to combat the obstacle of Rosemary's failing health. The "Holy Grail of Marriage" Miranda had remarked reverently to Doctor Shepherd as they prepared to remove a tumor from the old woman's brain. Miranda could barely swallow the irony of her personal situation in comparison to the Bullards as she changed and scrubbed for the surgery. Success for Rosemary was close and sweet and then, quite suddenly, it was torn away. Derek had done his best, he always did, but there was just no denying science, fate or God's will. Perhaps the latter two were one in the same. In the end the metaphysical quandary meant nothing to Edward Bullard or Miranda herself. When Rosemary's heart stopped beating the full reality of the Do Not Resuscitate order hit dear Edward like a hammer. He could not let go of the woman that had become truly a part of his soul. So he fought fate, pumping her chest until he could barely breathe. Miranda could do no less and in the end Derek had to make the call. Urge her gently but firmly to one side and let Rosemary slip away as Edward looked on. Walking out of the room to the anticlimactic snap of the heart monitor being turned off was one of the hardest things Miranda had ever done.

With the exception of Alex and Lexie, she spoke to no one for a full half hour. Derek was the one to lead Edward Bullard through the steps necessary to release Rosemary's body. Derek showed him to the door and sent him home with a few kind words and a compassionate smile. Miranda knew instinctively what he would say and do: ordinarily she would have done the same. Doctors were human beings after all and they all made mistakes. Today should not have been different,but it was. Tucker's angry voice ringing in her ears, the well-intentioned but foolish behavior of the residents in the morgue and Doctor Hunt's outburst in the trauma center made it so. Today was different and at this moment Miranda was not sure if things would ever revert to normal.

The rain poured down in a steady sheet. Miranda took a swallow of tepid coffee and stared across the small park to the bordering street. What was normal after all? Did the woman walking down the sidewalk with a cell phone in one hand and a bag of take-out in the other have a 'normal' life? Did a parent, a partner, a child or a dog await her safe return? Miranda shook her head. Normal was what everyone strived for and what everyone missed when their reality was disturbed. Having a stable home life and a plethora of friends made you acceptable and relatable; not having them made you a freak that many people could not be bothered to understand. Miranda was not used to or at all comfortable with the latter experience.

She finished her coffee and looked up and around the immediate area for a trash can. It was time to face the music. First a stop off at Tucker's apartment for a routine dose of temper at yet another double shift. Then home to a sink full of dirty dishes, a mountain of laundry and a toddler who would no doubt awake at 3 a.m. looking for the attention Miranda yearned to give him. This was her 'normal' but it was not joyous or fulfilling. Rather a reminder of what the Bullards personified. No doubt not all had been bliss over the past fifty years. Still, Miranda envied them and despaired of experiencing even the palest of copies in her own life. Spotting a trash barrel she blew a gusty sigh and stood up. Cold rainwater dripped from the brim of her hood onto her face and trailed down beneath her collar. She brushed away the excess and started towards the trash can. The lone figure standing beneath a tree in the corner of the park stopped her short.

Doctor Owen Hunt's dark red hair was plastered to his scalp. His right arm supported his weight against the tree and he stared at the ground, seemingly oblivious to the water streaming off his shoulders. Even from a distance, Miranda could see his jaw muscles working and his free left hand scrunching the lining of his jacket pocket. Unmistakable signs of a man trying to deal with a problem. She fingered the lid of her coffee cup and considered what, if anything, she should say to this virtual stranger.

Due to her status as Chief Resident, Richard Webber had been obliged to fill Miranda in on Hunt's background. Any number of circumstances might throw them together for consultations or surgical procedures, so it was best to be familiar. She knew he had been honorably discharged after a RPG ambush had killed his entire unit. Up until, and including that horrible incident, Owen Hunt had served three tours in Iraq with distinction. He had been commended for heroism and innovation under harrowing circumstances. In short, Hunt was a skilled professional that would be a true asset in Seattle Grace's quest to retake its status as one of the top teaching hospitals in the country. Those were the facts but the details were sketchy. Hunt had not seen fit to share those details with Richard or anyone else that Miranda was aware of.

She moved towards the trash can, surreptitiously watching him out of the corner of her eye. Hunt looked cold in a way that superseded the chill of the rain. Bone-deep cold and more tired than Miranda felt, which did not seem possible to her. Before leaving work earlier, Richard had caught her in the hall. His description of Doctor Hunt's overreaction in the trauma center and the contest for solo surgery among the second year residents was terse but laced with concern. Seeing Hunt alone with his professional guard down brought the conversation back to the forefront of Miranda's mind. Maternal instinct forced a flush of warmth to her cheeks and she looked away feeling slightly foolish. This was a soldier, a man of pride and dignity. She was nothing to him save a co-worker he knew only by name. Miranda tossed the cup into the barrel and started for the street and her parked car. She was no confidant to such a man.

Griefmakes an unmistakable sound. A harsh, choking bark forced from the throat of the unwilling. It is an angry, anguished noise made only when a man's body is refusing to do what his mind demands of it. Miranda stopped and slowly turned back, afraid of what she might see, unwilling to intrude but unable to stop herself.

Owen's left hand covered his mouth in a fleshy gag. Pale blue eyes stared up into the heavens, entreating the rain to drown the threatening tears. There were no actual sobs, just a great heaving of his shoulders and a violent shake of his head that sent water spraying in a fractured halo. Miranda bit her lip, caught in the conundrum of protecting his privacy and hers versus the need to reach out in some way. Recently she had told Callie Torres in no uncertain terms that she wanted no part of people's personal lives. She had enough on her plate without listening to the manufactured drama of others. This accidental encounter however was real in a way most of her coworkers could not appreciate. Real like Erica Hahn's outrage over the incident with Isabelle Stevens and Denny Duquette, or Alex Carev's erratic reaction to Rebecca's committal to mental health. Miranda understood that kind of pain. Seeing it reflected, albeit briefly, in Owen Hunt caught the breath in her throat and forced a prickly wave of commiseration through her chest. Walking away was not an option.

She waited quietly for Owen to regain some level of control. When he bowed his head and jammed his fist back into his pocket, Miranda walked slowly towards him. She was ten feet away when he turned suddenly and stared. A long moment of study and his features relaxed into a strained smile. "Dr. Bailey."

His voice was soft, husky with repression. Miranda nodded acknowledgment. She closed the distance between them, still holding his gaze as she stepped beneath the weak shelter of the tree. "You look cold, Dr. Hunt."

"Getting there," he agreed, dropping his eyes to the scattering of leaves and litter at their feet. "Going home?"

"Mmm hmm." She looked towards the street, giving them both a moment before venturing. "Are you okay?"

"Excuse me?"

Miranda looked back, catching his unease before he could mask it with a quirk of one blondish eyebrow. She tried a different tact. "How are you fitting into the routine at the hospital?"

"It's a different world. In Iraq it was about the job, the immediate situation. It had to be. Over here..." He trailed off with a rueful grimace. "Here it's a little more complicated."

"Yeah, they are a rowdy bunch." Miranda felt rather than saw him startle. She had hit a nerve.

"Did Chief Webber talk to you?" he asked.

"About the trauma case?"

"Thomas Hartland," Owen elaborated with a trace of irritation.

"Yes, briefly." Miranda looked up, holding his gaze for a moment before letting them both retreat. "He said you didn't have a very high opinion of our second years, especially Cristina Yang and Alex Carev."

"They've got skills," Hunt admitted. He stared at the buildings rising behind her and shrugged.

"You don't respect them."

"Respect is earned, not given."

Miranda dipped her head, conceding the point. "They will." The rain had stopped while they talked. She sniffed deeply and pushed off her hood to let the breeze dry her bangs. "Webber told me the facts, Doctor Hunt. Nothing else."

"Owen."

"What?"

"Owen," he repeated softly. "Out here Owen is fine."

"Fine." She held out her hand. "Miranda."

His skin was warm and surprisingly dry as his fingers gently gripped hers. "Fair enough."

"I won't ask anything of you, Owen." She grinned at his low chuckle. "I just thought you should know that."

"You're not 'up in everybody's business'?" he retorted in a tone that was only half in jest.

"Sounds like something one of our residents might say."

Owen pushed away from the tree and blew warm air into his cupped hands. "It was Callie Torres actually."

"Mm hmm. That girl has enough business of her own to deal with. I don't have the time for that kind of nonsense." Something dark flashed in his eyes and Miranda felt a flush of pity. She suddenly knew without a doubt that he had no one to help fill the coming hours. The ghosts were close this night. They had to be or she would never have stopped to listen. She did not know what possessed her to touch his arm at that moment. A woman's instinct or the simple need to express love to a person who did not demand it: in either case, Miranda succumbed to the urge.

He glanced at her hand but did not shrug it away. Beneath the brown leather sleeve his arm trembled. Miranda held on for several seconds, willing him a sense of calm that she did not entirely feel, before letting go. "Have you eaten dinner yet?" she asked quietly, letting the moment slide away.

Owen shook his head. "Can't remember when I ate last."

There was the barest trace of life in his reply. Miranda suppressed a smile. "You like diner food? You know that meat and potatoes kind of thing?"

"I've been living in the sand pit for the better part of the last three years. Not too many greasy spoons out there." He brushed self-consciously at the raindrops still clinging to his hair. "MREs have gotten better, but I have to say I missed the basics."

"I know a place that has the best steak and fries you ever had. Come on." She started back towards her car.

"Wait."

Miranda stopped and half turned. She knew what was coming but she let him say it anyway. The first steps of friendship were always the hardest.

"I know you have a husband, a son," he swallowed audibly and took a step away from her. "You shouldn't keep them waiting."

"Owen, I wouldn't have offered if I didn't have the time." His relief was a fleeting smile but enough to raise her spirits another notch. Miranda grinned. "Let's go. It's cold out here!"

The End


End file.
